


the sound of one hand dunking

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Other, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-24 01:40:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15619671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: This love hurts good, like eating too much spicy food too fast, a sweet burn behind her sternum and numbness on her tongue.





	the sound of one hand dunking

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday alex (and happy belated birthday taiga orz)

Rubber soles on asphalt. The rhythm of a standing dribble, a resting heartbeat surging into full-blown panic attack, a snare drum. Until it’s nothing but wordless shouting, and Alex opens her eyes. Tatsuya’s shot’s not going to get off; he’d jumped too soon and he knows it but there’s not enough time to un-commit. Alex squints through her glasses; Taiga’s hand blocks the ball with a firm slap and it bounces off back down to the floor. They land softly, Tatsuya first, pivoting to go after the ball as it rolls, still inbounds (there aren’t lines on this court, just rough approximation and trust).

Tatsuya picks it up and checks it to Taiga at the half-court line, assuming a defensive position before the ball’s on the upswing of the bounce. Alex closes her eyes again. She’s needed a new script for a while, but it’s gotten worse lately, and she’s actually going to have to go back to the eye doctor. She doesn’t have some superheroic echolocation-based hearing from her vision impairment; she just knows their game well enough to visualize it from the sounds.

They could be kids still, just figuring out where to hit the slightly-warped park backboard (and why that wouldn’t work exactly the same on the other side of the court), Tatsuya always analyzing in motion, taiga always doing first thinking later, styles that should let each other’s weaknesses leak through so well molded around each other that they don’t. Heavy steps, a slow dribble. The image of them sharpens in her mind; they’re eleven, still shorter than her for a little longer, a few of Taiga’s words still heavily accented, Tatsuya more puzzled than angry. They are seventeen, drawing back eroded trust with a tidal force, moving together against each other, physical in a way they weren’t with each other before and don’t necessarily default to now, throwing their bodies around more. Riskier, because the payoff’s high and because they’re aware of the risk. They’re twenty-one and far more cautious, almost dipping into skittish, leaving their feelings at the backs of their tongues to be swallowed and pressed against the backs of their throats.

Alex opens her eyes and they’re twenty-five, determined with all the fervor of a gasoline-doused barbecue lighting up an evening, moving too fast to catch their own breaths but determined not to give an inch, until Tatsuya throws an airball. Falling just to the right of the hoop, it sinks to the ground with a sound more imagined as a disappointing thump than it really is. Tatsuya stares as it bounces, rolling over to Alex’s foot; Taiga stares at Tatsuya. Alex picks up the ball and rests it on her lap.

Taiga and Tatsuya are both breathing hard; neither starts over toward her or holds up a hand for the pass. Taiga tries to wipe his hands on his shorts, but it apparently does nothing for the sweat, so he reaches over to the bottom of Tatsuya’s shirt. Tatsuya mock-shoves him away, but accepts it, leaning in enough for Taiga to drape himself over Tatsuya’s shoulders. It seems too hot for that (and Alex doubts the efficacy of the Tatsuya’s sleeves at wiping off sweat from Taiga’s forehead; at this point they have to be soaked through).

“Tatsuya…”

It’s a half-whine that Tatsuya cant’ say no to, a smile tugging his mouth into relaxing. Alex is smiling, too, but Taiga whining at her (which is not cute at all) does not preclude Taiga whining at Tatsuya from being pretty fucking cute. Though part of it is Tatsuya’s reaction.

“Yes, yes, it’s hot,” says Tatsuya, affectation of a beleaguered parent half-put on out of habit. “Want to take a break?”

When Tatsuya was younger, he would have insisted on powering through, telling Taiga to take a break but hustling through a drill he’d learned out of a book or by watching older players practice, silently noting footwork and hands and the motions of their bodies like an artist capturing gestures with a pen. If they’d had YouTube when Tatsuya was a kid (or really if it had existed outside of fan videos and low-definition news clips and anime episodes uploaded in three parts) he’d probably have been subscribed to a million basketball workout channels and his favorites would be dunking guides. They’re a sizeable chunk of the videos he texts her now while on break at work (accompanied by _think this would be good for the kids?_ or _did u ever do this one_ ) but mixed in with puppies, gif recipes set to music, and pro ball highlights.

He’s made his relative peace with the return on his investment, of his hyperfixation on basketball; he’d taken a step back that allowed him to see it as it is, fresh all over again, and then another step forward. Playing against Taiga is what he keeps coming back to, but it’s hardly a regression. It’s different each time, and it drags the very best out of them, and out of basketball. It was the push forward, years ago, that Alex needed to stumble back into it herself and to remember why she loves it, and why retiring still hurts sometimes.

It’s because she loves basketball so much it hurts, and she loves Tatsuya and Taiga so much it hurts, and it;s all tangled up like the fingers of a small child in the net, lifted on the shoulders of a parent, grasping indiscriminately. It hurts good, like eating too much spicy food too fast, a sweet burn behind her sternum and numbness on her tongue.

Tatsuya leads Taiga over to the bleachers, and they flop down next to Alex. Rummaging through his duffel bag for water, Tatsuya comes up with two bottles that nearly slip through his sweaty grip. He moves to grasp Alex’s thigh but she catches his hand before he gets there.

“Not a chance.”

“You’re sweating, too.”

“Less now,” says Alex.

“Then you’ll have no excuse to not to get back out on the court,” says Tatsuya.

Taiga’s finished chugging the contents of his water bottle; it’s crumpled in his hand now. “Do it? I want to watch.”

“Unless you don’t think you can take me when I’m worn out,” says Tatsuya.

It’s a low appeal, but Alex only understands Tatsuya’s competitive streak so damn well because she’s just as easy to give in to her own.

“I’ll spot you five points,” Alex says.

She picks up the ball and spins it on her finger; Tatsuya grabs it for himself. “Not necessary.”

“Don’t say I didn’t offer.”


End file.
